Another minute to make it months
by Gaia 479
Summary: Just a little ditty about the end of the season 4 finale. Amnesia Shpamnesia... I own many bones, but not the Bones in question here. Hart HAnson, we love you. or we will again in september... Kathy Reichs, thanks for the character.


**yeah, yeah, everyone's doing it...when in Rome...**

**just a little blip about my thoughts on the final minutes of the season finale, and how it would have played out if there was like one more minute of episode. A different kind of cliffhanger, if you will.**

**Thanks for taking the minute to read this. If I am ever inspired, I'll make up the rest...**

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"Who are you?"

The words expelled her breathe; she had been holding it in, waiting for what he would say. Waiting for the words he would speak first, in response to her information that the surgery had been a success. She had hoped that they would have been others. Three words that she longed to say also, but knew they would be spoken in a foretelling of heartbreak.

She would break his heart, of that she was sure.

He deserved better than her. He deserved someone who would love him boundlessly, for eternity, and she was still unsure of her ability to do that. She would forever be jealous of those around her who believed in the existence of undying, unrequited, timeless love.

Now, with those words spoken, her fears were allayed. He didn't know who she was. The surgery had misfired some memory synapse in his brain, and the scar on his head would prevent the scar that she would be sure to leave on his heart. The scar that she never wanted to be responsible for, but was afraid would happen when the inevitable appeared to be drawing too near. His own emotional scars did not need to be added to by her own.

She stared at him still. Words failed her. Her brain was already compartmentalizing the events of the last months. The events that had drawn them so close.

"Booth?" One word came to her lips, she was still shocked. Her emotions were not faster than her brain in preparing herself for his response. The truth in her head was deleting as quickly as the fictitious story she had spent the last while typing.

They stared at each other. He said nothing, only looked at her quizzically.

"You don't know me?" Her voice cracked in spite of her attempt to control her thoughts.

He shook his head slightly, but the smallest hint of a smile crept onto the corner of his lips.

She watched him carefully, and she saw also the smallest sparkle creep into his eyes.

"Are you joking?"

His smile, though he tried to stifle it, became pronounced on his face, and she was shocked again.

He started to laugh; his silence for the past four days was eliminated by his roaring laughter that filled the room...

She was not laughing. Her heart did flip-flops. Forgetting would now not be as easy for her as she had hoped.

"Booth, that is not funny. I thought there was something seriously wrong with you... How do you feel?" She suspected for the first time in days that he was going to be just fine.

He struggled to control his laughter, and finally got himself under control.

"It was kind of funny...I'm sorry Bren, I couldn't help myself. You should have seen the look on your face. What a sweet thing to wake up to." He started to laugh again, but his chortles were a little weaker. He _had_ just woken up from a coma.

Something he said made her think.

"Booth, why did you just call me Bren?"

His laughter stopped, and he appeared to be deep in thought for a second or two. He looked at her, and a small smile remained on his lips.

"That's what I called you in this dream that I had. It was so real... I guess it sort of slipped out. Would you rather I call you Bones?" His smile grew again.

She was nervous; she knew she had been speaking along out loud as she typed her story. Had he heard her every word? Patients in a coma were proven to be able to hear when spoken to. She should have considered that. Had her narration affected his dream? Had he dreamt what she wrote? She was venturing dangerously close to the unproven science of psychology.

She might never know what went on in his brain over the last days... Her mind was made up; it was just a story that she wrote. It would never happen. Just a pipe dream, whatever that meant exactly.

She sat down on the edge of his bed. She was still mad at him for deceiving her, but when she looked over to him, his smile and his eyes erased the last vestiges of anger. It was good to see him okay; normal, even for him.

She smiled back. He would think it was just a dream. She was relieved.

She placed her hand in his, proving her forgiveness.

He asked her, his face serious now,

"Do you really love me?"

Her eyes snapped to his. The relief was short lived. Panic settled.

"What?"

"I will never be a burden to you. Am I not worth the risk?"

"What?" She tried to stall her answer while realization came to her that he had heard and retained every word she had uttered and even now, was disassociating dream from reality. He was so much smarter than he let on, and he had her by her words. She stalled...

Now was just a great time for words to fail her.


End file.
